


Disney World

by tobylove (orphan_account)



Series: Lovers, Not Losers [2]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Bonding, Eventual Romance, Everybody Uses Nicknames, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Please Kill Me, Post-Zombie Apocalypse, Recreational Drug Use, Team as Family, it was just a random idea that popped in my head, lmao this is literally a zombieland au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-15 17:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13618488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tobylove
Summary: "All we gotta do is make it to Florida and we'll be alright."aka the Zombieland AU literally nobody asked for.





	1. Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> kfjisfjsofijfsj i can't believe i've done this why DO i do this 
> 
> this was probably just an excuse to write stan w a southern accent i'm sorry//

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Richie is on the way back to Maine, he makes a couple of friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was super fun to write but like flskjfsfkslfjsdkl it's already shaking me to my very core

They don't got no fancy name for this virus, you know.

Around these parts (and everywhere else), they just lovingly call the virus _It._

What is It? It's the virus that everybody knows and loves, of course. The one that makes you have to leave school and head back up home, just to find out that your family's dead. Yeah, that's the one. The one that claims your parents. Your sister. Your friends. _That's_ what It is. Spread the good word!

But of course I didn't know that when I was on my way home from California. You see, tickets were a breeze. When everybody was trying to leave, go to other countries, prices had skyrocketed. But there's not many normal folks around these parts (or anywhere else) anymore--so now, prices are dirt cheap. And before this story really starts, before I had met everybody else, I had met the King.

I met him at the Z Scan (the scan that the desolate airport makes any of the lone suckers traveling take. Just to make sure there's nobody on board with the virus that would kill or infect us all. No big deal).

He had brunet hair, in light waves, to his shoulders, but there was one thing... he didn't have any eyebrows. Like, they were _barely_ there. Looked legitimately like baby brows. And he hadn't had a touch-up in a while (not because there was a zombie outbreak or anything), so you could see the fiery roots of his hair. Who was he trying to fool? He's a ginger that dyes his hair brown.

He looked tired, worn down, on edge... but otherwise happy. In fact, _he_ was the one that made conversation with _me._

"God, these lines are crazy long," he said (very slowly, might I add). "We're gonna be waiting here _forever._ "

When I say that this guy talked slowly, I'm _not_ fucking kidding. It almost sounded like he had been talking at normal speed, but then somebody edited to where he could only talk in slow-motion. It sounded like he was doing it on purpose.

I looked at him; the joke almost flew over my head, and he cracked a wide smile. That fact that he could still joke despite the circumstances amazed me. He had one of those smiles that was contagious and made you want to smile back. He was my type of guy. Somehow, I knew that we were going to stick together.

"Yeah man," I said. I sighed very loud for emphasis, and the few people that were actually in line all looked back at me. "Wish it'd hurry along. I've got shit to do."

He had these ice-blue eyes that crinkled at the side when he laughed. Man, if we weren't fighting for our lives and all, I would actually try to spit some game at him--because I thought he was hot. But past that, I learned that he was assertive. He was courageous. He would unify us. Maybe that's why we all put that invisible crown on his head and kept it there.

"I guess I can't be mad. I'm not in too much of a rush. What's your name, stranger?"

"Los Angeles," I said. I was sticking to that rule that they told us: don't give your actual name. It was easier just to go by the name of your hometown. But you weren't supposed to get close to anybody else; they could get infected, or die, in a heartbeat. And be gone just like that. "LA for short. What's yours'?"

He furrowed his eyebrows, but not because of any confusion. All the boys and girls knew about the rule. It seemed like he was trying to decide on what name to tell me. He must used to travel a lot. Finally, he smiled with his eyebrows still furrowed, and settled on: "Edinburgh?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Huh. Oi mate and all that jazz. You from there? I can't really hear an accent. Must be all that wax in my ears."

He laughed again. All of this almost seemed normal. Almost.

"Nah. I was just going to school there, in the UK. I'm actually from Maine. I'm headed up there now... hopefully to see my family."

"Yo, sweet! I'm from Maine, too. But let's just stick with the LA and the Edinburgh thing. How's that sound?"

The smile stayed on his face. "Sounds like a plan."

Then there was a little bit of silence as we moved through the line. We got both of our (lone) suitcases checked, and waited to be able to board the plane. Who knew how the fuck long _that_ was gonna take. They had to do inspections on every plane before it left. The zombies liked to chill on the empty planes in hordes. So if they were there, the airport would have to either tell them to piss off, kill them all, or find another plane. So during the wait, I broke the silence.

"Forgot your name _that_ quick. But I know it's in the UK. Can I just call you United Kingdom? Ya can be the King for short."

"Hey," he said, amused, and he didn't seem bothered at the fact that I had opened my mouth at all. "That sounds _way_ more badass than Edinburgh." And he laughed.

There was another silence; shorter this time, though, and he was the one that broke it this time. I'm glad he did, and I'm glad that he said the thing that broke the silence. Because it gave us a bond that people said that survivors weren't supposed to have. "Hey, LA?"

I looked over to him, and furrowed my eyebrows in weird caterpillar shapes to hear him laugh again. I was enjoying his positivity in the midst of all this bullshit. I failed; he smiled, but he didn't laugh, and his eyes looked deadly serious. "What's your _real_ name?"

"Richard," I said, and I didn't hesitate. I didn't see a point to; we both knew we were in for the long haul. "Richie for short."

Finally, he laughed again. "Nice to meet you, Richie. But what's up with you and all these nicknames?"

"Hey, Kingsy! It's a science."

He smiled and nodded. "I guess it is. My real name is William, by the way." Nodded and smiled. "Bill for short."

* * *

So me and the King finally boarded the plane, and sat together; nobody gave a fuck about seat order anymore. You could sit wherever you wanted. There were maybe 20 or 30 other people on this plane, and they all either looked hardened, shell-shocked, or just absolutely disassociated. Well, all of them except one other guy, who was sitting across from me and the King. ( _The King and I,_ he corrected. Apparently, he was a Creative Writing major.)

"That guy _actually_ looks like he hasn't gone off the deep end yet," I whispered to the King.

"Try to get his attention," the King whispered back.

So that's exactly what I tried to do. I leaned so far in my seat I was almost in the aisle, but nobody seemed to notice or care. _"Pssst. Cowboy Boots. Pssst. Hey."_

Cowboy Boots--affectionately named for the shoes he had propped up on the empty seats in front of him--looked at me in a daze. He looked like he was almost asleep. "Huh? Wha?"

I continued on in my loud whisper. "Hey! I'm LA. Where are you headed to, Cowboy Boots?"

He chuckled. "You don't have to whisper, you know. Thanks for the nickname, by the way. It's really cute. And I'm not being facetious. Seriously!"

"I don't even know what that word _means_ ," I said in my normal speaking voice.

 _"Facetious,"_ the King said. "Basically, like when you joke about something--"

"Ah, it's okay Kingsy! _I_ was being facetious now."

Cowboy Boots grinned at the both of us. "You guys are cool dudes. You both from California? Like, did you live there together?"

The King blinked once or twice. "Huh? Oh, no. We just met before we boarded the plane."

"Oh," Cowboy Boots said, and his wide grinned stayed on his stubbly face. "I thought you were his boyfriend. I'm headed to Derry, Maine, by the way. To see my folks. If they're still alive. You know how it is..."

"Well, whaddaya know," I said, smirking at the assumption that our dear cowboy friend had made (the King had blushed so hard you couldn't tell where his roots started and his forehead began). "I'm headed to Derry, Maine, too. And the King here is headed to... what city?"

"Huh," the King said, the blush finally subsiding on his face. "Derry. Pure coincidence."

"It's a sign!" I exclaimed, and the King and Cowboy Boots reprimanded me for my volume. ( _Don't whisper, but that doesn't mean yell!_ Cowboy Boots said.)

"But LA is onto something here," the King said. "Big coincidence, but I'm also very superstitious. I think it really is a sign. We should all just stick together, you know?"

"I'm down with it," Cowboy Boots said, and then he finally spilled the beans so I wouldn't have to call him Cowboy Boots anymore. "Oh, I never told you where I'm from. I live in Nebraska. Silver Creek."

"Silver Creek it is!" I said. "Silver--"

"For short," the King finished with a smile. "Aw. My old bike's name was Silver. I like it."

"Now you're catching on, Kingsy!"

"Okay, that's _gotta_ be a pet name," Silver said, _really_ not believing either of us when we said that we had just met. He smirked. "Either you guys like each other already, or you're bullshitting me."

"No bullshit! He went to school in fancy ole'...?"

"Edinburgh!"

"Right! Edinburgh. That's in the UK. United Kingdom. So I call him the King." I raised an eyebrow in mischief. "Makes sense, right?"

Silver grinned. "Makes total sense, Los Angeles. Makes total sense. I'm done teasing you guys about it now."

I leaned in the middle of the aisle again and extended my closed fist. "Aye. Put it there, Silver my man."

I'm glad that I was in such good company. Silver kept his grin and touched his fist to mine in a fist-bump. The King reached over me, smiled, and added his fist in, too. And I felt so much better, because three people going through the same awful shit together was a hell of a lot better than one.

We fell into another one of those silences. Like those silences that the King and I had before we got on the plane. It wasn't a bad thing; it was comfortable. I was listening to music on my phone (crazy how I still kept the shit; who was I gonna call? Ghostbusters?) Silver had leaned back and closed his eyes, and the King was writing in what looked like some sort of journal. He told us later that they were old plot ideas.

"Hi-ho, Silver," the King said, and when he said it, he had this big-ass grin on his face. He thought he was Walker Texas Ranger now; maybe that's what he used to do when he rode his bike. "You never told us your actual name. If you don't mind!"

Silver didn't answer. Was he even fucking _breathing?_ I was joking, but he actually scared me a little.

"Hellooooo!" I said, a little louder. "Hey, buddy! Friend! Pal! Hey! Earth to Silver!"

The King and I looked at each other, and in that silence finally heard somebody's light snoring. "He's asleep," the King said, then he smiled again. "Hm. That was fast. He must've been really tired."

We didn't learn that his real name was Ben until much later, when we met all the other kids that would become our friends, that would become the Loser's Club... but it didn't matter. Silver Creek was good enough for us.

Until we got to Maine, the three of us was good enough for us--me, a lanky Theater major, with my nickname Los Angeles; a name that brought up images of fame and tans and neon signs. The United Kingdom, our redheaded friend who dyed his hair brown, with the electric blue eyes, who wanted to be a writer. And Silver Creek, who wore cowboy boots and needed to shave, who told us he was majoring in Architecture and Graphic Design, and who so affectionately shared a nickname with the King's old bike.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silver: so they're legitimately, actually, not dating....... right


	2. I Love New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two new bustling cities join the King’s ever-growing roster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay after next chapter that’s it w the introductions so i’m lit!
> 
> also i added george he's...... i would die for him he's precious

I didn’t expect anybody to _actually_ stick to calling me the King. It was sort of just a mnemonic LA made to help remember my name. “The King” felt too special; too grandiose. Edinburgh was enough for me.

I bought my ticket alone, but exited the plane with two new souls. Two new friends. It was hard to find any nowadays. Seeing that now, most of my friends were infected.

Or dead.

Silver shuddered at the bus station. “Ugh, I hate this fucking place,” he admitted. “It feels so _cursed._ ”

I smiled. “Gives you the heeby jeebies, right? It always has for me.”

LA snorted and joined in on the conversation. “Who ya telling. I was so happy to leave and go to good ole’ sunny California. This place? This place is a _fucking dump._ ”

We were all going to our respective parents houses; the bus would come soon, and those doors were the Gateways to Heaven or Hell. We would find out which one when we each got home. Which was no good—I’ve always hated surprises.

But we all had phones, and we exchanged phone numbers so we could meet up at a central location afterwards. I added LA and Silver as contacts, adding a little palm tree and bike emoji for them, respectively. I smiled when I did this.

“What are you smiling about _now?_ ” LA teased. “You’re _always_ smiling.”

“Because I’m always _happy,_ ” I responded.

Silver grinned. “Classic Kingsy.”

We all parted ways a few streets over, and I walked the last bit of ways over to my neighborhood. I passed the delightfully horrific house on the corner of Neibolt Street and chuckled. We all used to be scared shitless by that house, the kids of this city. It seems like a wet dream compared to what nightmare we were in now.

I made it to my house. The red and white shingles winked teasingly in the sun like candy canes. Eddie’s house stood seemingly unscathed a few doors down. I caught myself shivering.

Were they all still alive? George. Our parents.

And _him._ My best friend. My first love. The other half to one of my tattoos, a rabbit on his forearm—for the tortoise and the hare.

No. My Bunny. Eddie—

_“Bill?”_

I whipped my head around, my hair an ugly, unintentional ombré fluttering behind me. _It was him!_ It was him; he was really okay! Thank God. That was one huge weight lifted off my shoulders.

I wondered if I could alleviate the other three.

He furrowed his eyebrows, his smile wide, his pretty brown eyes two glimmering pools. His hair was slightly roused. He had on his favorite sweater: the one I got him for his birthday years ago (that he could still fit) that said _I Love New York._ He ran up to me and tackled me into a hug.

“Turtle! Billy! Big Bill, Jesus _Christ,_ you’re okay. I thought you were fucking _dead_. I heard you’d be back the other day, and you weren’t, and I...”

“I’m sorry!” I exclaimed, finally able to laugh off some of my nervous energy. “I was more worried about you than me. And George and my parents. Your mom, did she...?”

“No,” he said, and sighed a little—he already knew what I meant. “I’m officially an orphan now.”

I hugged him again. “Oh, no. Eddie... I’m sorry.”

He laughed, much to my surprise. “Aw, it’s okay, Big Bill. Really.” Then, he added: “It’s _about time_ for me to be a man outside of Mommy Dearest.”

“Well. _That’s_ a great mentality to have!” I said, and we laughed together. It was easy. Familiar. Comfortable. Normal.

“You’re right, though,” I added after the laughter faded. “Now you can be whoever you want to be.”

Eddie beamed at me.

* * *

We went into my house together. And after going through the misfortune that is seeing your parents dead, I got the fortune to see my brother. My little snot of a brother, grungy and disheveled... but alive. And I hugged him like we had just met.

“I-I’m so-o gla-ad you’re here,” I said in between painful heaves of sobs—and even then, I cursed myself for the stutter. Maybe I could get it to stop. _He thrusts his fists inside the...?_ Whatever. Seeing George, seeing Eddie... I would let the stutter slide, just this once.

But at least now, I could wear my heart on my sleeve. For some reason—probably pride—I couldn’t cry in front of Silver or LA. And I couldn’t stutter, either. _Wouldn’t_ stutter. Even the very _thought_ embarrassed me.

“You and Eddie; you’re both safe,” I wailed on. “Holy shit. This is the best day of my life.”

“Shut up, Bill,” George muttered into my hair. “You’re gonna make me cry, you asswipe.” But he was already crying. Maybe even harder than I was.

Eddie, George and I walked neatly, side-by-side. I had told LA and Silver that we could all meet back up at the Standpipe. And I was more than happy to bring the new editions to our ever-growing little party.

“Who are these ‘friends’, anyway?” Eddie asked, and he seemed a little jealous. Younger Me would want wishful thinking. “How do you know you can trust them?”

I shrugged and smiled. He hated when I did that—he said it gave off the impression that I didn’t care. “Hm... I don’t know. Why shouldn’t I?”

Eddie looked at me in bewilderment, but not necessarily surprise. George laughed and shrugged as well, the movements eerily matching mine.

“Bill’s a good judge of character. Isn’t he, Bunny? I’ll roll with it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighed. “I guess _I_ will, too.”

For some reason, I had expected LA and Silver not to show. But they were there—both of their warm, handsome features sticking out against the hardness of the Standpipe. They had a third person with them. Another guy. He had curly hair and dark brown eyes; pretty dimples in the apples of his cheeks.

“I thought you said there was just two of them?” Eddie asked.

I smiled. “Seems like I’m not the only person who brought a little company.”

LA grinned as soon as he saw the three of us. “Well, well, well, Kingsy. You brought some friends. I’m down with it. The more the merrier.” His eyes locked on Eddie. “And _now,_ I’m merry as fuck. What’s _your_ name, cutie?”

“Well, it’s not ‘cutie’,” Eddie quipped. He sighed. “It’s New York.”

“Well damn, baby! The sweater’s fitting. ‘Cause _I_ love New York, too.”

“I bet you’ve never been.”

LA’s grin grew into a smirk. “Betcha could take me there.”

Silver smiled and threw his hands up in defense, almost as if it were a reflex. “Well, I’m Silver Creek,” he offered, laughing. “Silver for short.” He pointed to the curly-haired muse. “And this is Atlanta.”

“Hey,” Atlanta said simply. He looked directly at me, and I actually shied away from his stoic gaze.

“Where’s Silver Creek, anyway?” Eddie—well, New York; let’s abide by the rules—asked. “Nebraska?”

“That’s the one. I knew everyone in that place. Couldn’t do _nothing._ ”

New York chuckled at this, and LA flushed—maybe he was jealous that Silver hadn’t gotten any bite-back.

“Yeah, well, anyway, Atlanta’s a _real peach,_ ” LA rambled on, and threw his arm around Atlanta’s shoulder. “Takes a while to warm up to people—but he’s full of syrup, ‘cause he’s just so sweet.”

“True,” Silver mused. Atlanta blushed, but otherwise kept his poker face.

“Awl, thanks,” he said. He didn’t seem like a man of many words. And his accent was peculiar. Unique. Southern with a distinct Northeastern flair. But he must’ve lived in Georgia forever, because the accent was trying to _outshine_ that flair.

“And I can actually hear an accent on _him. Kingsy!_ ” LA said, bringing attention to it as well.

“Don’t be fooled,” Atlanta said, and he pointed down to the ground for emphasis. “I’m from here. You can take me out of Maine, but you can’t take the Maine out of me.”

It was the most talking that he had done so far, and just the dry tone of his voice was enough to make all of us laugh.

 

Silver’s mother had survived, but LA hadn’t been so lucky. His parents and his sister (who had come all the way from Ohio to try to see their parents) had perished. Atlanta, we learned, was an only child—but unfortunately, his parents were also gone.

“It’s okay,” LA had said. “I got all my ugly crying out on the walk here. No biggie.” And it bothered me that he joked like that, because I _knew_ it hurt. So I asked him the only thing that I thought would help: “Do you need a hug?”

“ _Puh-lease,_ Your Majesty! That’s actually Rule #10 on the Richest Survival Guide,” he had said. **"When in Doubt, Hug it Out.”**

I grinned. I’m no rule-breaker. And when everybody crowded around LA and I and wrapped their arms around us... I learned that none of us were.

“Oh yeah, by the way,” he added, after the group hug. He pointed directly to George. “Who’s the little guy?”

I ruffled George’s hair. “My little brother. Isn’t he just the cutest?”

“I’m not cute, or little—I’m _14_ ,” George complained, but took the ruffling with grace.

New York and Silver laughed, and Atlanta gave me a smile—well, more-so an enthusiastic half of one.

“And what do we call you, Lil’ Man?” Silver asked. George seemed to ponder this.

“I mean, you guys are all older than me. And I’ve never lived anywhere else,” he reasoned. “So I guess I’m Derry.”

“Ah. Well nice to meet you, Derry! You don’t feel cursed, going by this city?”

George gave a sly grin. “Nah. It’s a cursed name for a cursed guy.” LA laughed so hard that he fell to the ground.

Silver told his mother that he had met other survivors and they were now his friends. She had told him to bring them all over so she could meet them all. So that’s where we were headed now—just for a few showers and a breather.

His mother was adorable, and you could tell she really loved her Silver. She doted on him almost like he were a toddler or a small dog—she kind of reminded me of Mrs. Sonia.

“BJ got so skinny before all this mess,” she was telling the other five of us, much to Silver’s growing dismay. Hers' seemed to be growing, too. _“And he’s only gotten skinnier!”_

 _“Ma,”_ he groaned.

“At least eat something while you’re here, Big Guy. All your friends are eating. Why don’t you?”

“Mama, I cant. I’m a vegetarian now, remember?”

She placed her hand on top of one of his. “I’m not going to sit here and hear that, BJ. You can’t be picky about food when there’s _zombies_ all over the damn place! Language. I’m sorry, boys.”

The rest of us assured her that we didn’t mind at all.

She frowned, turning her attention back over to Silver. “BJ. Please eat?”

He frowned back, just a little, and I could really see the soft features that he got from his mother. “I’m not hungry, Mama.”

“Well, in since you don’t want to talk about _that_ ,” she said, sounding slightly hurt, “where are you boys all headed off to?” She turned her attention back to the rest of us. Everybody shared confused glances, and their eyes looked over to me—even LA’s.

“I think I know a place,” I said.

“Hm?” LA said, and he raised an eyebrow with a grin. “Where to, Kingsy?”

“Well, uh, this is silly; still a working theory,” I started. “But hear me out! Disney World. I hear it’s one of the only places that hasn’t been hit by, uh... _It,_ you know.”

“They say that Florida as a whole hasn’t really been touched at all,” Atlanta added. “Guess zombies don’t like the beach.”

“How can you know that for sure?” Silver’s mother asked. And she had a right to—because that’s the thing. I _didn’t_ know for sure. I was going off here-say. A fantasy.

“I don’t,” I admitted to her—but then I smiled. “But if it’s true, just imagine. All of the rides, and the pretty pictures we can take, and the hotels and pretty beaches. It’d be nice. But can I ask you something, Mrs.?”

“Hanscom,” she said. This time, she smiled back. “Yes, baby. Go ahead.”

“Can you... can my brother stay here with you? If it’s safe in Florida, I’ll be back for him. I swear. Even if I have to come back alone. If it _isn’t_ safe... well then, at least I know _he_ is.”

 _“What?”_ George yelled. “I don’t want you to go alone. Bi—“

I looked at him and frowned. “Georgie. Please. Please just do this for me.”

“Fine,” he said, and he looked like he was on the verge of more tears. “I just don’t want you to leave again. What if you... don’t make it back?”

“I-I-I’m—“

_He thrusts his fists inside the posts and still insists..._

“Sorry? I know you are. You big nerd.” He smiled a warm smile at me... and I was ever-grateful that he didn't seem angry.

Mrs. Hanscom smiled at the two of us. “Of course he can stay, honey. You can stay as long as you like.”

I gave a grin back. Even though my eyes fluttered and welled with tears, they all weren’t all necessarily unwanted. Some of them were happy, ecstatic even, relieved tears. Others were worried and tense and scared.

But I was happy nonetheless. I was _always_ happy when it came to George.

Knowing that he was safe, we could finally close this book that was Derry, Maine, and open a new one, with blank pages, for new beginnings. And write the new story. We could all fit in LA’s pick-up truck and head off to the promise of Florida... to that pipe dream.

Well, not yet.

“Edinburgh,” New York said suddenly.

I smiled a pleasant smile. “Hm?”

“We can’t leave yet,” he said. We were in the truck, and had said our goodbyes to both George and Silver’s mom. “We’re missing something.”

“Your phone number,” LA piped up. “I mean, that’s what _I’m_ missing, at least.” New York didn’t dignify him with a response; he just cut his eyes at him.

I counted all of us underneath my breath. Well wouldn’t you know it; he was right. Silver, LA, and I made three—and New York and Atlanta were 4 and 5. That just wouldn’t do.

“You guys know how I said I was superstitious?” I asked, my smile still playing on my face. “Well... New York’s right. I believe there’s strength in sevens. We have five people here. We're missing two.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LA: so........ New York......  
> New York: no


	3. How To Save a Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or two.
> 
> The gang’s All here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i’m having SO MUCH FUN
> 
> also please forgive any typos (i’m on mobile) love, the laziest writer ever//

I was hooked, even after the first time I saw her. The King said we couldn’t leave yet, him and his superstitions... but I was _really_ glad that we didn’t.

I fell in love and made a best friend.

Love isn’t one of those things that this world seemed to have anymore... But LA seemed to be feeling the vibes, ever since New York and Atlanta joined our party.

“So were you going to school in New York?” He asked. “Did you have anybody up there? Like a boo thang? A boyfriend? Girlfriend? A—“

“Beep beep,” New York said suddenly, and then blushed and looked at the King. “Never mind. Forget it.”

The King had burst out into laughter, and he had this look of warm nostalgia plastered on his face, along with his lovely smile. “Aw. You still _do_ that?”

“It’s cute, whatever it is,” LA chimed in. “What’s it mean?”

The King snorted, trying not to snicker. “It’s something we used to say when we wanted the other to shut up.”

“Ah,” LA said, and twisted his face up in mock-offense. “Boooo. Mean. No fun.”

But none of us could really complain. We were all very hospitable, seeing that we were all from the same hometown and everything. Despite being scattered in the four winds. Just calling everybody by their college town was a helluva lot easier.

We were in LA’s truck, and he was driving, singing. He had requested New York sit in the passenger’s—to which the latter begrudgingly agreed. I was sitting in between Atlanta and the King. Atlanta was looking out of the window, seemingly mesmerized by the birds landing on telephone poles.

The King was humming, and reading. It seemed like all he ever _did_ was read. I had a piece of scrap paper, drawing mock blueprints of buildings I’d probably never get to build. New York pulled a pink comb out of his fanny pack and compulsively tried to smooth down his bangs. Maybe he was nervous.

“My hair’s a _wreck_ ,” Atlanta said out of nowhere, getting the attention of everyone in the truck. “New York, New York, lend me your comb.”

He glanced up at New York, and when everybody stared at him in confusion, he chuckled and went back to looking out the window.

“Do you actually wanna borrow it?” New York said after a while. “You can, if you want.”

“Nah,” Atlanta said, and waved his hand. He never took his eyes off the telephone-pole birds. “Maybe later—thank you.”

New York smiled at him through the rear view mirror. Atlanta glanced up from the window and gave a little smile back.

We all rode like this for awhile, falling into a comfortable silence. Until the air was filled with New York’s screams and LA yelling _“holy shit!”_ LA pumped on the brakes. We all jolted forward violently. The King hit his head on the back of the seat.

“Ow,” he moaned. “You _guys_. What’s wrong?”

“Look. Up in the road. What _is_ that?”

And then Atlanta screamed. It scared the hell out of me—and not just because he was sitting right next to me. It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever heard such fear in a sound before.

“That’s a person,” Atlanta said. He sounded on the verge of tears. “A girl. Is she dead?”

“Did we hit her?” New York asked, just as worried—and when he looked to LA, there was none of that previous fire in his eyes. “We didn’t hit her, LA... _did_ we?”

LA shook his head, running his hands through his hair. He was trying not to show it, but he was obviously shaken up. “No, babe. Nah. We didn’t. We would’ve felt it.”

The King spoke up. He wasn’t smiling anymore—for once. “I’m getting out. I’m going to go check on her.”

 _“No!”_ Atlanta said firmly, yet full of apprehension. “Don’t! What if she’s infected?”

All the King did was grab one of Atlanta’s hands and pat it with his free one. His smile sprouted back on his face. He took off his seatbelt and opened the door.

“Aw, it’s okay. I’ll be back.”

“Wait, Kingsy!” LA said, already opening the driver’s side door and hopping out. “I’ll go with ya. Hey Silver, man the fort?”

I smiled. “Sure.” Then I reached out for Atlanta and New York’s hands, just to calm them down. They both took my hands gratefully—each squeezing just as tightly.

There they were, LA and the King in the middle of the road with this bloody, red-headed girl—they checked her for bite marks or any pus coming out of her orifices. Then I saw the King checking for a pulse. I saw her eyes flutter open and she touched the side of his face. I saw him smile.

“She’s alright!” He yelled back to the car, and him and LA grinned and both gave us thumbs-up.

“Oh, thank _God_ ,” New York said. I heard Atlanta let out a breath that he probably didn’t realize he was holding. Both of their grips on my hands loosened considerably.

We watched as LA and the King supported the girl up with their arms and lead her back slowly to the truck. They finally got to the back door, and the King opened it for her and helped her in. He sat her next to me.

“Thank you guys so much,” she said as soon as they both got back in the car. They both grinned at her.

“No mention it,” LA said. “What’s your name, Princess?”

“Chicago,” she said. “But I’m no princess, baby. I’m a _Queen_.”

She gave a mischievous smile to LA and the King, and to New York and Atlanta—and me. Her firey, curly hair framed her face, touching almost down to her hips. Her eyes had their own special flame.

_My heart burned there, too._

She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

* * *

“I left the house, after my dad died,” Chicago said. “You know. He was killed by It. No sweat off my back, though. I hated him. But anyway, I just started walking... then _they_ came. They all started trying to attack me. I killed every one of those sons-of-bitches. Then I passed out. And here we are.”

“Geez. Are you really sure you feel okay?” The King asked, and put his hand up to her cheek. I saw her blush brightly. I burned brightly inside.

“Oh yeah, dude... I-I feel fine.” She shook her head. “Oh shit. I never asked. What’s all of your names?”

“I’m Los Angeles,” LA said, turning back in his seat. “This here is my boyfriend, New York. That’s Atlanta. Silver Creek’s to your left. The King’s to your right.”

“Don’t listen to him. I’m _not_ his boyfriend,” New York said quickly, and turned to look back at us as well. Chicago laughed. It sounded like the prettiest music.

“How was Cali?” Chicago asked, and kept her grin.

LA gave her one back through the rear view window. “Sunny and funny, my gal. I love it. Can’t wait to go back.”

“Feel you on that.” She looked over to the King. “Now, there’s _gotta_ be a reason for the cool ass name. Where are you from?”

The King laughed, and his nose crinkled. “Edinburgh.”

 _“Edinburgh,”_ Chicago echoed back. She looked at him like she saw every ocean and sea in his eyes.

I looked at them both, desperately—like I was drowning, drowning, drowning.

  
We were driving near the outskirts of Derry when we met the last member of our group. We all became a little family, the seven of us.

The outskirts were littered with little farms on the left—and the Barrens far off, closer to the city, on the right. Again, LA stopped the truck... and this time, we could all see why.

Nobody screamed—this time, we were all prepared. Atlanta let out what sounded like a strangled gasp.

“Jesus Christ, those cows,” I said. “All of them are fucking _dead_.”

We pulled up into the dirt path that was paved out to be a driveway—the driveway of the farm with all the dead cows. All of us got out of the truck, cautiously. There was a barn. We all headed towards it, side-by-side.

“Maybe we could chill out here for the night,” LA said. “Chances are nobody fucking lives here anymore, anyways.”

“There’s not a chance in hell I’m staying here,” New York countered. “Not with all of these poor bastards lying around.”

“Look at them all. That’s so sad,” Chicago said... and linked her arm into mine. My heart beat hard in my throat and chest.

“It’s _disgusting_ , is what it is,” Atlanta said. He tucked his button-down back into his pants, and crinkled his nose.

“Hey now, I meant we could chill out in the _barn_ ,” LA said, and grinned at all three of them.

New York sighed. “I knew what you meant, LA. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m _still_ not staying here.”

The barn was very cozy on the inside, but it was obvious there hadn’t been any animals here in a while. Maybe since It broke out. Everybody joked about the cleanliness of the barn—but then stopped abruptly and looked at the King.

He was completely silent. And, again, he wasn’t smiling. That meant that something was wrong.

“ _Shhh_. Hold on, you guys,” he whispered. He wasn’t talking as slowly anymore. “Do you hear that?”

We all fell silent and zoned in. Then, we all heard it: deep humming that reverberated off the walls. But then it abruptly stopped.

Atlanta took a deep breath. Chicago clasped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and green and _beautiful_.

Then we heard footsteps, closer and closer. They stopped.

“Who’s there?” The same deep voice that was the source of the humming. I’ll beat the shit out of you, with God as my witness.” More footsteps. They stopped again.

“No, no,” the King said, and out his hands out in front of him—even though we didn’t see the guy. His speech was back to its slow gait. “Hey man, we’re not dangerous. We’re just passing through.”

More footsteps. He finally appeared to us. Obviously another guy—broad-shouldered and toned from hard work; a sharp jawline, smooth brown skin. He had on a red sweater and a pair of denim overalls, and black boots similar to mine. His were steel-toed.

He smiled. He didn’t seem dangerous, either. In fact, he seemed very sweet and pleasant. And looked _super_ familiar. Did I go to school with him? We played sports together, or something—didn’t we?

“I’m _so_ sorry,” he said, and rubbed his neck. He didn’t seem anything like the hard-edged guy from just moments ago—he seemed embarrassed. “I thought you were—”

It all happened so fast. Three more figures burst from the hay to the side of us. We all recoiled back. The guy in the barn went staggering backwards, trying to pinwheel his arms for balance. But he fell—hard—onto the ground, landing at a weird angle.

We already knew who our new friends were. They were zombies, of course.

They slowly neared the guy, who just scooted himself away from the horde. He didn’t scream. But he _did_ , most certainly, look scared. Terrified, even.

It was Chicago who screamed this time. It hurt to hear her in fear. _God_ , I wish I fix everything.

 _“We’ve gotta do something!”_ New York yelled. “We can’t just let him _die!_ ” He looked at me, LA, and the King.

“Shit,” LA said. “I left my bat in the truck. _Shit shit shit—”_

Atlanta suddenly ran up near the horde, and we all yelled his name to try to get him to come closer back. We didn’t look like he had any weapon on him—they would both die. We couldn’t let them... that would be horrible.

 _“Atlanta!”_ LA yelled. “You son of a bitch! What are you doing?”

“Please just shut the fuck up and _throw me something!_ ” he yelled back. _“Anything!”_

All of the fear, the anxiety, the apprehension he had in the truck—it was all gone. He bared his teeth, and light blue braces glittered from slivers of scattered sunlight.

And then I remembered that _I_ had a weapon. An ivory-handled knife that my mother bought me. Let’s just thank the bullies—mainly Henry Bowers—that made me ask her to buy it. Before I became a vegetarian. If you catch my drift.

“Hey, ‘Lanta!” I yelled, feeling heaps of adrenaline rush through me. “Catch!” I threw the knife to him—all those years of football paid off in that very moment. I hoped the sharp end of the knife wouldn’t cut him.

But he caught it. Smoothly.

All of us cheered him on in the distance, from the destroyed bales of hay. The guy in the barn, in the overalls, put his hands together in a praying motion. His smile was wide.

The horde turned their attentions to Atlanta now in the midst of all the commotion. They charged at him. The peeling and oozing holes in their faces and throat were bare—and I’m sure that would’ve freaked Atlanta out, even just a few hours ago.

But none of that fear, that disgust, flickered in his eyes. It was like he was a completely different person.

He closed the distance, and in one smooth motion, cleanly slit the throat of all of those flesh-eating demons. All three fell to the ground, one by one. Blood squirted out of the the slits of their neck in thin streams.

We all cheered for him. _“Fuck yeah, ‘Lanta!”_ LA screamed. _“Fuck yeah! Yowza, yowza, yowza!”_

 _“He did it!”_ Chicago yelled. “Oh my God, he _really_ did it!” Her and New York laughed and hugged each other. The King stood, straight-up and smiling and proud.

He looked back at us, panting—and for the first time, gave us a full-on smile. Then he turned his attentions back to the stranger on the floor. He knelt down beside him.

“Thank you, oh my God, thank you _so much_ ,” the stranger said. He grabbed Atlanta’s hand.

“It’s no problem, really,” Atlanta said. I could hear the smile in his voice. “Are you okay?”

He smiled back. “Uh... yes _and_ no. Pretty sure my ankle’s busted. I think I can walk on it, though.”

“Do you need help?” The King asked from the distance. He started towards them, and the rest of us followed.

“Yes, please... thank you.” He laughed, and winced only just a little as we helped him to his feet. “It ain’t nothing but a love-tap. I’ll be fine.”

“Aye! A _love-tap!_ ” LA exclaimed, and he cackled. It was like it was the funniest thing he’d heard all day. “I like you already. What’s your name, strange man?”

“Orono,” he answered. “I went to school there.”

Okay. So he literally went to school _‘just down the road’_ , at the University of Maine.

Orono kept his smile—he radiated positivity, sunny skies, just like the King.

“Sounds like Oreo to me,” LA said... and when was the last time I had some Oreos? “So I’mma just call you that.”

“Okay,” Orono said, and he laughed.

“Well, Orono,” Atlanta said. “You’re a tough cookie... but that doesn’t _look_ like just a love-tap. Looks like ya whole ankle’s swollen. You’re gonna have-ta take off your shoe.”

“Alright,” Orono said. “Fair enough. But I’d be a _burnt_ cookie if it weren’t for you.” He looked at Atlanta—at his face, at his eyes... like how I looked at Chicago.

 _Like how Chicago looked at the King_.

“Aww, shucks,” Atlanta said, and he smiled again. “It _really_ was nothin’.”

LA looked at Atlanta in what appeared to be actual surprise. “It was _nothing?_  Pfft! Georgia, my dear. That was so badass, I’m making a new rule in the Richest Survival Guide in your honor: **Lend Me Your Bones.** ”

“Ah, thanks,” Atlanta said, and it looked like he was trying not to gush. Then he said: “Silver, Silver, lend me your bones,” and he giggled like he had just told the joke for the first time. I still didn’t get the reference—but the King and Chicago laughed. And Orono, too. But I’m pretty sure that was because he was partial to Atlanta as a whole.

Atlanta handed me back my knife, and the King looked around at us and gave a playful sigh. “Well, _I’ve_ had enough drama for one day,” he said, and wiped his brow. “Who wants to get back on the road?”

“I _most_ _definitely_ do,” New York said. And we all were able to share a laugh.

“We’ve gotta clean these puppies up soon,” LA said, and pointed two thumbs over to Chicago and Orono. “So let’s go back to the safety of my brand-spanking new truck.”

“You mean your _hoopty?_ ” Atlanta corrected—and this time, Orono, Chicago and I laughed. I heard New York whisper: “What’s a ‘hoopty’?”

“Fuck you, ‘Lanta,” LA said, and joined in on the laughter.

Atlanta gave another half-smile. “Fuck you right back.”

It was nice. It was nice that the King’s superstitions worked out for the better, because now we had seven people. He’s right—seven is a heavenly, magical number. Powerful. The energy radiated right through me. I could feel it flowing through everyone else, too.

We were set. Now we had: a leader, a jester, a navigator, a handyman, an analyst, one tough cookie, and a strong, beautiful girl.

And it felt _damn_ good.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silver: look at her she’s so graceful  
> Chicago: *stuffing food into her mouth*


End file.
